Not at Fault
by cirann
Summary: He's not crying, exactly, because sixteen yearold boys don't cry. Besides, Remus doesn't think that one or two or maybe three tears counts as actualy crying. They all freeze halfway done his face anyways, so they really don't count. RLxSB


This is my first piece of actual writing in a while, so it may be rusty. This was sort of my "Get-back-in-the-habit-thing," that actually turned into a recognizable one shot. Constructive criticism is encouraged, and needed. Praise is welcome too, and loved.. –Hopeful smile-

Disclaimer: I own none of Mrs Rowling's creations. If only..

Really, none of that was supposed to happen. Remus Lupin was never supposed to kiss Sirius Black because Sirius was a bloke, he liked girls, and he snogged them on a daily-basis. That was that. There was never any fairy-tale involved, and even as things in the world had begun to change around them, these things didn't change, because that was the way everything worked in the world of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

Of course, Remus was never supposed to fall for Sirius Black in the first place, but really, if one were to look at the situation fully, all of this could not possibly be Remus's fault. Was it Remus's fault that Sirius was so bloody attractive? Was it Remus's fault that Sirius's ebony hair was just the right length, and fell into his eyes in such a way that they somehow didn't obscure them? And, was it Remus's fault that James and Peter had gone home for the Christmas hols, which only left the two of them together, making it even more difficult to hide certain feelings on Remus's part? And the fact that Sirius had disappeared just to go watch the first bleeding snow-fall of the season without telling Remus, which obviously made him worry, his fault as well? And _why_ in the name of Merlin's beard did Sirius have to look so ruddy _brilliant_ in the light of the evening's sunset, making it utterly unbearable for Remus to resist kissing him anyways? He was quite sure that the whole thing was a bloody _conspiracy,_ and that everyone in the whole world was in on it, except for him of course.

It really was completely, and utterly, unfair.

When he had kissed Sirius, it had been quick and chaste and subconscious. He remembered hanging there after their lips had parted, dizzily breathing in the other's hot breath, before the he had realized what he had just done. He had reeled back in horror, apologized fervently, and had made it quite obvious he was not particularly keen on witnessing the other's reaction when he had sped off in the opposite direction.

It had been nearly an hour since that moment, but Remus can still not-quite feel Sirius's breath mingling with his own, the way that his lips had been so soft against his. The way that some of the other boy's fringe had brushed against his forehead, whisper-soft against his skin…

Remus feels himself give a mournful sigh, his breath freezing the instant it leaves his lips as a cold breeze sweeps through the astronomy tower where he sits. Tugging his ragged scarf tighter around his neck and chin, he bites his lip in his frustration.

He's not crying, exactly, because sixteen year-old boys don't cry. Besides, Remus doesn't think that one or two or maybe three tears counts as actual crying. They all freeze half-way down his face anyways, so they really don't count.

However, the fact that his _tears_ froze really just goes to show how cold it is outside, and Remus whole-heartedly agrees with the reasonable, logical side of his brain that is telling him to go inside. But the part of his brain that mostly runs on instinct and heart tells him that he ought to just stay out here until he freezes to death, because by the time James and Peter learn what he's done, (And Sirius must have owled them by now,) he won't have any friends left to scold him for staying outside for so long anyways.

He coughs into his hand, his throat hurting, and he suspects it won't take long now. He's already half-asleep, his head aching, his fingers and toes numb with cold, and the frayed ends of his scarf have gathered so many little snow-flakes and trapped them in between themselves, that they look like icicles instead of worn-out fabric that belongs to a home-knitted scarf.

There's a loud "thump," as a heavy stone door slams against the castle-wall behind him. Or at least, it probably _would've _been loud if there wasn't the howling wind to worry about. That, and the fact that Remus was currently half-deaf, and not really caring.

He can hear a desperate cry, and he looks around with bleary eyesight, squinting at the dark figure above him. He can feel hot panting tickling the tip of his not-quite numb nose, and suddenly there's strong arms underneath his own, dragging him up and inside, where it's just as cold even without the wind.

He can't exactly remember how he ended up in his own bed, buried underneath mountains of thick blankets that really should make him sticky and hot, but succeed in only making him comfortably warm, with a mug of hot cocoa beside him on his bed-side table, and a familiar presence of dark-hair and dog-like eyes near him.

But when he feels rather than hears the mumbled scolding that come from above him, and a pair of lips on his sweaty, fevered forehead, he finds that he really, doesn't care.

FIN


End file.
